


Family + Corvette

by impossiblepluto



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Parental Jack Dalton (MacGyver TV 2016), Whump Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-11-01 21:54:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20519198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impossiblepluto/pseuds/impossiblepluto
Summary: In which the car and the boys get a little whumped...





	Family + Corvette

**Author's Note:**

  * For [12percentplan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/12percentplan/gifts).

> Dear 12, I'm sorry about the car...
> 
> Dear Everyone else, thanks for reading and hope you enjoy!

"Alright, hoss, eight minutes until the guards pass again. Unless you want to turn this fancy shindig into a brawl. Which I'm not opposed to as long as I can lose the tie," Jack's drawl coming in loud and clear through the comms from his location in the main hall.

"I think I can handle this without the need for a brawl," Mac rolls his eyes, tapping the side of his glasses to active the blacklight function, allowing him to see the keypad of the safe, hidden on the wall in the upstairs office. "But thanks for the offer."

"Just letting you know that your options are open. And I haven't punched anyone in like a day."

"So you're getting antsy." Mac taps in the access code. The keypad lights green. There's a click and a hiss as the lock disengages.

"It's like when you haven't made anything explode in a couple of days. There's just that itch, ya know?"

Mac slides the door to the safe back, and raises an eyebrow, letting that action bleed into his tone to make sure Jack hears it in his voice. "No, actually, I don't know."

"Fine, like when you take my phone apart, or correct everybody's science, twist some paperclips, whatever it is that lets you blow off some steam?"

Mac smiles to himself, and tries to sound puzzled. "Still don't know what you mean, Jack."

Jack sputters. "You don't know what-- Oh, ha ha ha. Rile Jack up. That's Mac's idea of a relaxing activity."

Mac lets a small chuckle reach Jack over the comms. His long nimble fingers disengage the extra alarm sensors, holding the dismantled hard drive in place. He flexes his hands, allowing himself a moment to feel like Indiana Jones, Jack is wearing off on him, he lifts the drive from its perch. Pausing for a heartbeat as it clears the sensor pad, waiting for an alarm to sound. Not that he doesn't trust his handiwork or the Phoenix intel. He's just been doing this for a long time. Missions like this are never that easy.

"Buddy, did I not just say I haven't punched anyone in like a day? You looking to get a pop?" The words are filled with laughter, belaying the growl. "You're down to about six minutes. How we doing?"

"Heading for the stairs."

"Really? Already?" Jack scans the room, eyeing the undercover guards he previously identified. Not one of them stirs from their post. No alarms sounding, no alerts over their radios. He snags a champagne flute as it passes, turning with the woman carrying the tray, as if he can't keep his eyes off the beautiful server, using the motion to survey the rest of the room. "You did it without triggering anything?"

"Thanks for the vote of confidence."

Jack sees his partner descending the grand staircase, deftly dodging inebriated couples. "It's just been a long time since... nope, not gonna say it. I'll get the car."

The steel blue Corvette stands out in a sea of Bentleys and BMWs. Jack's pride and joy. He slides into the driver's seat, the car purrs to life, and he pulls up to pick up Mac. Between the white tux and blond hair, he's practically glowing in the moonlight.

It's a rush, to not be chased from the house and down the path. Not diving into the car and peeling away with a squeal and scent of burning rubber. The car passes through the gates of the estate and turns leisurely down the winding road. Jack laughs and smacks Mac's shoulder.

"Can you believe that?"

Mac smile indulgently. "It's not the first mission we've had that's gone right."

"No, but it's been a while," Jack says, he revs the engine a little, coaxing more speed from his baby. "It's early enough we could stop for a pizza."

"It could be five in the morning, and you'd be ready to stop for a pizza."

"Like you've never had pizza for breakfast before," Jack says, turning to glance at his partner as the streetlights illuminate the car in rhythmic patterns. "But you know, if you don't want a pizza..."

"I didn't say that."

Jack smiles. "Hot peppers?"

"Of course."

"That's my boy!" Jack cranks down the window, with a whoop and Mac smiles indulgently at Jack's exuberance. "It's the perfect night for a summer drive, Mac. We gotta do this more often."

"We're never home for a summer night drive."

"Gotta make time for what's..."

He doesn't get to finish that sentiment. Notices blinding lights through the passenger window seconds before the crash. With an incoherent yell, he slams his foot against the accelerator in an attempt to move Mac out of the direct line of impact.

A jolt that Jack feels ricochet up his spine and the screech of metal crumpling, caving in around them. An explosion of glass. He slams his foot against the accelerator without avail. Pumps the brakes to try to regain control. Nothing stops the momentum of the car. The Corvette at the mercy of the large vehicle. His arm flies out instinctively to brace Mac. Mangled metal as the car spins. His head flies forward as the seatbelt snaps him back into place. Jack's pretty sure he felt his brain move, sloshing around inside his skull from the force of the crash.

The blur of streetlights and headlights, and a veil drops over his vision.

Darkness threatens to engulf him. He tries to push back against it, hold on to some control over his fate.

The front of the car crumples, rattling them to a jarring stop.

He feels consciousness slipping away. He grasps at it, trying to hold on, fight through the screaming pain that tells him to let go for a minute, his body demanding a moment to reset.

His head drops against his chest. His eyes sliding closed, giving in to the pull of darkness. A reprieve. Relief from pain.

Fading.

But a different need, stronger than the desire for rest or relief, is screaming at him, desperate to be heard over the pain and dissonance.

Mac.

Jack fights to lift his head from where it lolls against his chest. Manages to open his eyes. Focuses them on the passenger seat.

"Mac," his speech slurred. His tongue feels thick, swollen. He can taste iron, feel blood coating his teeth.

The younger man doesn't stir. His head hanging down. Blood glistens on the spiderweb cracks of the window. Drips onto Mac's white tuxedo jacket.

Jack reaches out, pushing his hand against the side of Mac's neck, feeling for a pulse. It's rapid but strong.

"Mac," he tries again, trying to choke back the seed of dread that settles into his stomach.

The kid groans but his eyes stay closed.

"Mac!" Jack tries again, more forcefully, leaning over to get a better look at Mac, see where the blood is coming from. Sharp pain stops him. His ribs protesting the action. He's going to be beyond bruised from the secure hold of the seatbelt, but his attention is forced to his leg. A dull throb when he woke, the movement from trying to reach Mac caused a tearing, burning sensation. He sucks in a breath. The dashboard crumpled around his leg, trapped. He slides his hand down his leg, trying to figure out where he's caught. He can't reach much past his knee, but his hand comes back slick with blood.

With a growl of frustration, he rests back against the headrest, chest heaving. The pain and the exertion leave him breathless.

Eyes closed, he notices a shadow pass through the glow of the street lamp. Jack squints into the darkness, cursing his pain and worry that distracted him from the vehicle that caused the accident and the threat from whoever is inside. He fumbles with his seatbelt and then his gun as the shadow comes closer. 

The window next to Mac's head shatters and the glass ripped from the frame. A gun trained on Mac. Jack raises his gun and they're caught in a standoff.

"Easy there, slick," Jack says hoping that the tremor he feels in his hand isn't visible to the gunman. "Why don't you put that pea shooter away."

"Don't think so, slick," a gun cocked in Jack's ear causes him to freeze. "Put it down, nice and easy."

"Okay, okay," Jack says, slowly raising his hands, keeping an easy grip on his gun. "Whatever you want."

"We want what you took from the safe."

"Don't know what you're talkin' about, man? I know I look good enough to be double oh seven, but we just crashed the party and left early. Gonna grab some pizza because the hor d'oeuvres were garbage."

"Kill them, we'll search the bodies."

"Okay, okay," Jack interjects. "Hold on man. I've got it on me."

He shifts slowly in his seat, drawing the attention of both gunmen. Calculating the odds that it's just the two of them. In a smooth motion, he tightens his grip on his gun and double taps the man on the passenger side, taking him out before a look of surprise can cross the man's face. The gunman slumps, then slides down the car door.

At the same moment, an action so swift neither thug had the chance to react, Jack throws his elbow back and up. Catching the second gunman with equal surprise, bashing the man's hand against the roof of the car. The gun falls and skitters on the floorboards.

Jack spins in his seat, with an agonized scream, ignoring the searing pain in his leg in favor of protecting Mac. Throwing a punch, he feels the cartilage of the man's nose crumple under his fist. He grabs the man by the back of his neck while flinging open the door, smashing it against the gunman's head. He too drops to the ground.

Half in the car, half out and his leg, still pinned under the dash, screaming at him, he aims his gun towards the SUV, squinting as the headlights blind him. There's no movement around the vehicle and Jack breathes an uneasy sigh of relief. His heart beats loudly in his ears as he tries to keep the darkness from closing in on him. He can hear his name from far away.

"Jack!" Mac's panicked voice breaks through the after effects of adrenaline and pain.

"All good, Mac," Jack breathes heavily, teeth clenched.

Mac is scrambling in the passenger seat, trying to free himself from his seat belt, to reach Jack, to understand what happened in the last few minutes, how they went from planning an evening on the deck to bloodied in a broken car. 

"You got your phone?" Jack cracks and eyelid to look over at his partner.

"Um," Mac's hands tremble as he pats down his pockets. "Yeah, yeah I got it."

"Call it in," Jack instructs, collapsing back into the driver's seat, drawing in shaky breaths, and trying to chase back the black spots in his vision.

The words of Mac's one sided conversation flow over him, but he can't make sense of it. He jumps, fists swinging out when a hand touches his neck.

"It's me. It's just me," Mac says quickly, his voice soft. His hand catching Jack's weak punch with ease.

Jack nods, not trusting his voice. He white-knuckle grips the steering wheel, trying not to pass out or throw up. Most importantly trying not to worry his partner.

Mac's hand comes back to Jack's neck, deftly searching for a pulse. The skin cool, clammy. The racing, bounding thud under Mac's fingers alerts him to Jack's pain and growing distress.

"What's wrong, Jack?"

Another shaky breath. "My leg's stuck. Under the dash."

Mac pauses waiting for Jack to continue.

"If it wasn't broken before, it is now," Jack licks his lips.

"What else?" Mac asks suspiciously, recognizing something in Jack's tone that he was trying to keep hidden.

"Think I twisted wrong. Pretty sure I tore it open on something," Jack admits. "Bleeding pretty good. I can feel it running down my leg."

Mac leans over the middle console, trying to get a look in the darkness, sliding his hand down Jack's pant leg, trying to find the source of bleeding.

"It's stuck good, hoss," Jack huffs. "Can't reach it. "

With a groan, Mac leans back in his seat. "Okay, gotta try to stop the bleeding," he murmurs. He tries to open his door. It doesn't budge. Crumpled into the frame, metal almost fused together from the force of the collision. He throws his weight against the door, the metal creaks but doesn't give. He slams his body sideways again, straining in the confined passenger seat to have enough momentum and leverage to force the door to move. Again and again he tries without luck. His hand braces his ribs as he rests for a moment between forceful shoves. Breathing heavily from exertion, ignoring his own discomfort.

"Don't hurt yourself, bud."

"It won't move!" Mac yells in frustration, ribs aching. The side of his fists smacks the door.

Mac takes as deep a breath as he can manage, then pulls his long legs up to perch on the seat, shimmying out the broken window. Bracing his hand on the roof of the car to leverage himself up with a groan, banging against the metal, hands and feet scrambling against the side of the car, which would normally have Jack yelling to not scuff up the paint job.

After pulling himself from the car, Mac leans heavily against the frame, taking a second to catch his breath and give his ribs a moment to stop screaming at him. He's sweating from exertion, and his head is spinning from pain or the concussion he's sure he has. But Jack is bleeding. It's bad. He needs help. Mac keeps a hand on the car for balance, making his way to the more or less intact driver's side.

He takes a second to secure the hands of the unconscious thug slumped against the door, before kicking over the inert body and rolling him out of the way with a grunt.

It still takes a minute of pulling and a yell for Mac to get the door to screech open. Jack is well and truly stuck.

Mac leans through the door, over Jack's legs, even with the different angle, Mac can't stretch his hands far enough under the dash to reach the source of bleeding. 

"It's okay, Mac," Jack reassures. "How long til ex-fil?"

In the dim light, Jack is pale, fading fast.

"Too damn long," Mac says, slicing his fingers on the pieces of metal and plastic that have encased Jack's leg. Pulling back Mac unbuckles his belt, nearly ripping the belt loops of his trousers in his haste to remove it. He drops to his knees, sliding the leather around Jack's thigh, just above his knee.

"This is gonna hurt," Mac warns, looking up to meet Jack's eyes.

Jack nods, gripping the steering wheel with both hands.

Mac cinches the belt, pulling it tight in a tourniquet to try to slow the blood loss. Jack clenches his teeth, biting back a cry of pain, not wanting to worry Mac, but he can't help the choked scream that escapes his lips.

"I'm sorry," Mac whispers.

"It's good," Jack pants. Throwing his head back against the headrest, breathing through the worst of the pain. "Gotta do it."

Mac sits back on his heels, leaning heavily against the car door.

"Where are you hurtin' hoss?"

Mac's been up moving around, and even with his foggy head, Jack can see the disturbance in Mac's gait, the way he's swaying, even while kneeling on the ground.

"I'm fine," Mac says by rote.

"Well, I ain't buying that one for a minute," Jack reaches out, cups Mac's cheek, tilting the kid's head so his pupils catch the light from the SUV. "You feelin' dizzy?" Jack's fingers ghost over the drying blood and bruise where Mac cracked his head on the window. The speckling of blood, tiny cuts across his cheek and chin from shattered glass.

"I'm probably about as concussed as you," Mac retorts, but continues honestly. "Maybe some cracked ribs. It's kind of hurts to take a deep breath."

"Let me see."

"You're not going to be able to see anything in the dark," Mac grouses, but knows Jack won't let it slide. He pushes aside his suit coat, and untucks his shirt, hiking it up, flinching when Jack's cool fingers touch his skin, and again when they press gently against sore ribs.

"Anything else you aren't mentioning? They hit your side of the car pretty damn hard."

"Just bruises. Honestly, Jack. I would tell you if something was wrong. What about you?"

"You already know, concussion, probably a broken leg. Definitely bleeding."

Mac pushes up from Jack's side. He peers into the backseat. "You got a jack in the trunk? Something I can use to pry the dash open and get you free?" He staggers towards the back of the car, not waiting for an answer.

It takes some effort to get the trunk opened, but Mac returns a few minutes later huffing, with a jack and a toolbox. Examining the dash from all angles, pulling himself practically into the front seat with Jack as he decides on a course of action. He maneuvers the jack into place, the hydraulic pressure extending the arm and attempting to free Jack from his prison.

Metal creaks and Jack groans.

"You think she's gonna be salvageable?" Jack pants.

Mac's attention doesn't shift. "Sure, with some elbow grease and improvising."

"I'm not letting you at her with duct tape and chewing gum, dude."

"I was thinking more like paperclips but..." Mac teases.

Jack opens his mouth to answer, but the retort dies on his lips. "Oh god, Mac, stop. Stop," Jack yells.

Mac freezes instantly. "What's wrong."

"It's pushing on my leg, it's, oh god, Mac. Stop. It hurts. Stop."

"Okay, okay, I'm not moving," Mac says, releasing the jack, and trying to move his hands into the gap he created. "I stopped."

"Yeah, yeah, okay. It's okay," Jack breathes with relief as the stabbing pain slowly subsides. He sucks in a breath through clenched teeth.

Mac prods at the dash and the part of Jack's leg he can see. "I still can't reach."

His fingertips are bloody, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes scan the area. "Maybe I can come from a different angle. I could--"

Jack catches Mac's arm. "Nah, I think the dash is putting pressure on it right now, slowing the bleeding down some. Don't want to jostle things more. Just sit down a rest a minute before you make yourself dizzy with your brain spinning all over the place."

Mac lowers himself to sit on the running board. "Guess pizza's gonna be off the menu."

Jack makes a face. "Maybe we can get ex-fil to stop on the way to medical?"

"Not if you need surgery to reset your leg."

"Oh man, Mac, at least they're gonna give you jello. Who knows how long it'll be before they let me eat something," Jack complains, not mentioning that the idea of pizza or jello both make him feel like tossing his cookies. And don't say cookies...

At least Mac is still thinking about food. That does more to ease Jack's worries than his quick assessment of his partner.

Jack shivers, the tremor sending spikes of pain down his leg. He blinks against the tears that fill his eyes. He can see Mac's mind racing, problem solving. Mac never does well waiting for assistance or ex-fil. His brain always jumping on to the next problem, searching for the next solution.

Mac licks his lips, looking back toward the tourniquet, considering all the options.

Jack is struggling. He's cold, not sure if that's from shock or if the night air is getting cooler. He shivers. Everything hurts. His muscles trembling for warmth makes that pain in his leg nearly unbearable. Everything feels muted, distant. And he realizes darkness is encroaching again.

"Hey, Mac," Jack's eyes are closed, he's breathing through the pain. "Don't freak out on me, okay, but I think I'm gonna pass out in a minute."

Mac turns, staring wide eyed at Jack.

Jack cracks an eyelid, looking towards his young partner. "You gonna be okay with that?"

With a huff, Mac rubs a hand down his face. "What if I said no?"

Jack bites his lip. Mac sees him steeling himself, fighting through the pain. If Mac asked him to hold off on passing out Jack would fight tooth and nail to do it. Mac puts his hand on Jack's shoulder.

"It's okay," Mac swallows hard. "Do--do what you have to do."

"I'm gonna try real hard not to, buddy," Jack pants, leaning forward with a groan as the muscles in his leg spasm. Crossing his arms against the steering wheel and leaning his head against it.

Mac scrambles to stand, his hand brushing against the back of Jack's neck. The skin there is more clammy now. Diaphoretic. His fingers press against the pulse point under Jack's jaw, too fast and thready.

"Sorry, hoss," Jack whispers as darkness floods his mind. Just beneath the rushing sound in his ears, pulling him towards oblivion, he can hear Mac yelling his name.

Mac's mind races as Jack slumps against the wheel. He pulls Jack's inert body back to lean against the seat, reclining it as far as it goes, wishing he'd thought of it sooner. Cursing the concussion that's keeping his brain cloudy.

"Shock. Lay him flat. Why didn't I lay him flat?" Mac pulls his suit coat off, tucking it around Jack's shoulders. "Keep him warm." He mentally ticks off each step of his field triage and first aid lessons. "Stop bleeding. Would if I could. Damn it!" He tries once more to wriggle his hand down beneath the dashboard without success. "Elevate his legs." Mac frowns. He hand smacks against the roof of the car in frustration.

Mac squints in the darkness. "One leg would be better than nothing." He can reach Jack's left leg, it's mostly free, some gentle maneuvering, grasping the back of Jack's knee, bending it, pulling around the plastic and metal and steering wheel, until it's free from the car.

Pushing the door, Mac sits on the ground, holding Jack's leg aloft, ignoring the twinge in his shoulders at the awkward angle and weight in his arms. He slides his hand down to Jack's ankle, feeling the peripheral pulse there. It's weaker, threadier than the pulse Mac found on Jack's neck or even his wrist.

He runs through the barely listened to biology lessons from years ago, and the slightly more recent first aid training, remembering how he teased Jack for taking the course so seriously, completing homework and asking questions that on occasion stumped the instructor. Weaving an intricate combination of drastic perfect storm type events that the instructor started looking at him suspiciously, like Jack wasn't actually taking this course completely and totally seriously.

The muscles in Mac's arms quiver with exertion. He repositions each hand slowly, trying to relieve the strain. The mild relief lasts only a moment.

"I don't like this," Mac says, looking up to Jack's lax face. There's no response from his partner. He wasn't expecting one, though there was a secret hope that Jack would hear him and fight to wake up. Mac's not usually on this side of the ex-fil wait alone. "Is this payback?" 

Not that he thinks Jack would do that to him, but he sort of thinks that if the situations were reversed Jack would be talking non-stop to him. Scolding and lecturing, teasing and getting sentimental. Jack's voice has a way of quieting his racing thoughts, and Mac wishes Jack was awake to keep him from thinking too hard.

So Mac talks. Talking to Jack, voicing his concerns, feels better than sitting here in the silence, worrying.

The temperature is dropping, and Mac feels a chill slipping through his thin dress shirt. The shivers from the cold blend with the quiver of exertion. He bites his lip, and shifts position again, turning to look at Jack, wishing for a blanket to tuck around him. His fingers slide back to the pulse on Jack's ankle.

He's focusing so hard on supporting Jack's leg, and keeping up steady one-sided conversation that he almost misses the wailing of sirens from Phoenix's mobile medical unit. The flashing lights pulling him back to the present.

"Hey, Mac."

He turns to look up, relieved at hearing the familiar voice. "Do you ever take a night off, Reese?" 

"Not when you guys are heading out. Told you, you are my favorites. What's going on?"

Mac draws a shaky breath. "Car accident. Jack's leg is stuck under the dash. He thought it was broken, and said he could feel it bleeding. I couldn't get it loose. Put a tourniquet on about twenty minutes ago. He's passed out ten minutes later, hasn't woken up since. Pulse is fast and thready," Mac answers in a rush.

"Alright," Reese says slowly, gesturing at the other two members of the emergency team behind her. "Why don't you come with me while Johnny and Kevin get Jack out of there, okay?"

"I'm elevating his leg, because of shock. I couldn't get the other one out," he repeats. He knows he's repeating himself. Can feel an impending spiral, from mild shock, or fear, or even the concussion. He just needs to give up control for a while, and the only person he really trusts is in no position to take over that control.

"You did everything right, Mac," she reassures. "We're gonna take over from here, okay?"

He nods slowly and allows Reese to help him stand. He sways slightly, her hand steadying him. She guides him into the ambulance and onto one of the gurneys despite his protests. He only half pays attention as she wraps a blood pressure cuff around his upper arm, obtaining his vital signs, flashing her penlight in his eyes. She tucks a rescue blanket around him. He's too distracted by the creaking sound of metal, and the compressed air motor from the jaws of life prying his partner from the car.

Jack's scream of pain cuts through the night, and has Mac struggling to get off the gurney and to his partner.

"Mac, as soon as they get him free, we're going to wrap and run. I need you settled so we can focus on him."

With reluctance he submits to the rest of her exam, and allows her to secure the safety straps on the gurney, his attention still firmly fastened on the scene he can barely see through the back doors of the ambulance. In the darkness, he can see sparks from the saw cutting Jack from his Corvette.

They weren't kidding about the wrap and run. As soon as Jack is freed from the car he's on a gurney heading towards the ambulance. He's secured across the aisle from Mac and the back doors slam shut. Moments later they're taking off, siren wailing.

Jack's face is pale under the dark stubble across his chin. His view obstructed by the two medics in the back. Reese calls out vital signs and each action they take, and Mac knows it's partially for his benefit.

"Mac," Jack's voice weak, muffled under the oxygen mask. He struggles against the restraints, crying out when the action jars his injured leg. "Where's Mac?"

"Right here, Jack," Mac reaches his hand out, his fingertips brushing against Jack's arm.

Jack's head lolls against the pillow, turning towards Mac's voice. The fear in his eyes at seeing Mac on the gurney next to him overrides the pain, and he struggles again.

"I'm good, Jack. Concussion. Reese is just bossy."

"You're bossy, hoss," Jack slurs, as he relaxes with Mac's assurances.

The frantic movements from the medics start to slow. The initial race to obtain vital signs, start IV fluids and wrap Jack's leg with gauze, that's beginning to soak through, is over, and now it's about maintaining hemodynamic stability until they reach the medical center.

Mac latches onto Jack's middle, ring and pinky fingers, his forefinger encapsulated by a pulse ox.

Reese look towards Mac and cycles his blood pressure cuff again. "You doing okay, Mac?"

He nods, not turning his gaze from Jack.

If asked he won't remember the drive back to Phoenix Med. At the time it seemed entirely too long, but they're pulling into the ambulance bay before Mac realizes it.

Mac releases his safety straps and scrambles from his gurney before they can pull it from the ambulance, walking through the doors under his own power, shrugging off Reese's hands when she tries to guide him into a different exam room than Jack.

He shoots her a look. "I'm not leaving him. I'm fine. Broken ribs, concussion, you can check me over in here if it can't wait, but I'm not leaving him." He's half-surprised it works. He knows Jack usually just muscles his way into Mac's exam room, but he didn't know if the sheer stubborn refusal would work for him too.

And he worries what that means, when Reese gives in to his demands without a fight, settling him on a stool and positioning him near Jack's head. She takes his vital signs again, but he barely notices, only half listening to her questions, distracted by Jack's moans.

The bright lights make his head ache, and despite the glare, the world around him seems hazy and muted. He can't focus, can only sit there, dazed, orders for imaging, labs and other medical jargon replies ringing distantly in his ears.

Jack groans again, writhing against the gurney.

Mac brushes his hand through Jack's bristly hair, mussing the styled faux hawk, his touch light. Gentle. Afraid to hurt Jack.

It feels wrong.

The action isn't completely foreign to him. He has on occasion been in a position to offer comfort to Jack when he's been hurting, but he doesn't like it. Give him a task, defined actions to take, or a plan to make. Don't make him rely on his feeling, or come up with comforting words, or know how to place his hands just so to ease his pain.

That's Jack's job. Jack who knows when to launch into a long winded story to distract, or when to card his fingers through Mac's hair. Jack is exactly what Mac needs when he's hurting. And Mac doesn't know how to do the same.

Jack is larger than life, invincible at times, and to see him like this, with his face screwed up in pain, breathing labored, tears leaking from his eyes. Mac doesn't like it.

It's wrong.

His eyes dart around the room, looking for something to distract himself from the lines of pain on Jack's face, from the vials of blood being taken from Jack's arm and most importantly from the nurse palpating Jack's dusky foot and ankle for pulses.

"Mac, " Dr. McClain says slowly, waiting until Mac is looking at him before continuing him "It's not good. I've got the best vascular and orthopedic surgeons I know coming, but crush injuries like this..."

"Yeah, yeah," Mac shakes his head. "Rhabdomyolysis, hyperkalemia, cardiac arrhythmias, kidney failure..." his voice trails off, his brain and his limited knowledge of pathophysiology leading him down a trail of worst case scenarios.

The nurse hangs a bag of blood from the IV pole, replenishing what Jack's already lost from the injury, and preparing for what he's going to lose from surgery. A fine sheen of sweat on his pale face, but when Mac looks down, Jack's eyes study Mac's. A nurse cycles the blood pressure cuff again, and adjusts the pulse ox on Jack's finger as it beeps.

"Its bad, Mac," Jack whispers. His voice tight, trying to rein in the pain, keep his panic from spilling onto Mac. "I know it's bad."

Jack grasps Mac's hand, squeezing tight. Breathing short quick gasps.

"No, it's going to be okay," Mac promises, the mangled limb at the end of the bed claiming his attention again.

"You can't even look me in the face when you lie to me."

Mac's eyes flash towards Jack. "I'm not lying."

"Mac, please," Jack's eyes are glassy with pain. "Don't let them take my leg."

"Don't talk like that, McClain's got the best surgeon coming," Mac chokes on the words. "They're getting you all prepped for surgery so you're ready when he gets here."

"I've seen guys with legs looking better'n mine and they can't save 'em."

"Nah, you've got great lookin' legs," Mac tries to joke, tries to distract Jack, as his partner would do for him. "You'll be up running around in no time. Chasing after me and yelling about my dumb ideas."

"They won't let me watch out for you if I've only got one leg. I won't be able to keep up with you."

"Hey, big guy," Mac's voice cracks. "Let's just focus on you for a minute."

"No, Mac, this is important," Jack grasps Mac's hand again. "Please. This is more important."

"Jack, you're important. The doctors are going to do everything they can--"

"I can't lose you, Mac."

"You're not going to. I'm fine. You focus on you, buddy." 

And Mac can't deal with the wave of emotion he feels washing over him.

Jack groans in pain, his head pushes back against the thin pillow on the gurney. "Please, Mac."

"Jack, we're ready for you," Reese says, leaning over from the other side.

"Reese, watch out for Mac," Jack begs. "I can't-- I can't watch out for him."

"I've got him, Jack," Reese promises.

"He's hurting."

"Yep, and as soon as I send you off, he's gonna get all my attention."

"Don't let him fool you."

"You know me better than that."

"Yeah, yeah. Just watch out for him, because I can't. I can't watch out for him. God, I can't keep up with him anymore. My leg..."

Mac feels his breath coming in short gasps. Even with his life in the balance, Jack's priority is still Mac. It's always Mac.

Mac follows the gurney carrying Jack towards the door, catching McClain's arm. "Do whatever you have to do to save his life."

* * *

Mac has one arm folded against the upper siderail of Jack's bed, his head tucked into that arm, waiting. Watching. He hates waiting. Give him a task. Something to build or a problem for his brain to chew on.

Jack has stirred a few times throughout the night, but surrendered again to the pull of sleep before fully waking.

Mac hasn't left.

He reluctantly submits to a check up after Jack is wheeled to the surgical suite.

"Come on, Mac, your turn. I promised Jack," Reese says, her hand grasps Mac's arm to steady him, and leads him into an exam room. Reese helps him change from the bloody remains of his tux crimson on white, he can't stop staring at it, at Jack's bloodand settles onto the exam table. He hates sitting on that table. The vulnerability of feet that don't touch the floor. 

Bozer arrives soon after.

He must be taking lessons from Jack, Mac decides, because he bursts into the room without even a knock, his face distressed. Riley at least, waited in the hall long enough to make sure he is decent before Bozer waves her in. Mac knows he lost all privacy when Jack adopted him, but didn't realize that extended to the rest of his adopted family as well.

While he'll continue to complain about his complete lack of privacy, having Jack close by is always something of a relief. Having Bozer and Riley isn't quite the same, but it helps.

After Reese cleans and closes the worst of the wounds that pepper the side of his face, Riley takes the washcloth from her, helping Mac clean the blood from his hair.

"Did Jack ever tell you about the time he glued my head closed?" She asks as she wrings out the cloth. She gently cups her hand against Mac's unblemished cheek, steadying him. Mac finds himself relaxing into her ministrations and the warmth of the water soothing and the cadence of her words easing his apprehension.

The comfort Jack would give comes easily for her as well.

"I was fourteen and I gave him a hard time, about everything."

"No, really? Teenage Riley had an attitude with Jack?" Bozer asks sarcastically. Mac snorts remembering the tension that plagued some of Riley's early days with the Phoenix, and how much Jack worried about messing things up with her again.

"Hey," Riley protests, pointing at Bozer with the washcloth, smiling when Bozer holds up his hands in surrender. "I guess I wanted to see how far I could push and if he really would stick around." She shrugged.

Mac finds himself relating to those feelings, the seeds of distrust planted in a childhood of being left behind and abandoned. Never believing he could count on another person to stick with him. In the first few weeks of his partnership with Jack, he expected his Overwatch to ask for reassignment. Waited with bated breath after he re-upped for Dalton to realize he'd made a mistake. Never expected Jack to follow him to California and stay, for the last eight years, and never once think about leaving.

"So, I sneaked out of the house and crashed my bike. The wheels were all bent and I didn't know how I was going to get home, and then Jack just showed up. Out of the blue, perfect timing. Took me home, cleaned up the road rash on my elbows and knees. And glued my head shut," she lifts long dark hair, revealing a barely visible scar. "He scolded me the whole time. The first time he ever did, he'd always just put up with my attitude before this. It was the first time that I believed he'd stick around."

"Jack yells when he cares," Bozer nods, looking knowingly over at Mac. "And when he cleans up his kids' road rash when they crash their bikes, both analog and digital."

Mac feels his face flush.

Riley glances between them. "I feel like there's a story here?"

"At least I was wearing a helmet," Mac protests. "But that puts his rant while he was picking gravel out of my leg into perspective now."

"He helped me rebuild my bike."

"He strongly encouraged me to sell mine," Mac shakes his head. "Made fun of me the whole time I was rebuilding it. I'm pretty sure he was hiding tools too."

"Speaking of rebuilding vehicles, how's the 'vette?" Bozer asks.

Mac shrugs. "Salvageable, I hope. He loves that car."

"I love that car," Bozer says. "What's he gonna do if it's not?"

"Oh, come on, between Mac and Jack, that car could be inside out and they could get it purring again." 

Mac flashes a pained smile. "I just hope he'll be able to, fix it and drive it." His eyes grow distant. The worry that he let himself forget about for a minute coming back to the forefront. "Maybe I can make some modifications, hand controls, or put the gas pedal on the left side of the brake pedal."

"Is it that bad?" Riley asks quietly. "I know they said it wasn't good but..."

"I couldn't get him out. If the bleeding was too severe, and he wasn't getting enough perfusion to his foot..." Mac takes in a shaky breath.

Riley places her hand against Mac's shoulder. "Hey, he's got the best surgeons, and you did everything you could."

"I hope it's enough."

Riley and Bozer exchange a worried glance.

"He was sort of, out of it, before they took him back. He begged me not to let them take his leg. The docs weren't sure what they'd find when they got in there. I told them to do whatever they had to do." Mac shakes his head remembering Jack's fears, the panic in his voice. Worrying that Jack wouldn't forgive him if it turned out they couldn't save his leg. Worrying about what that would do to Jack.

Selfishly, worrying about what that would mean for him.

Riley sucks in a breath. 

"No, both of you, stop," Bozer chides. "Jack wouldn't write either one of you off this easily, and you're both ready to put him in the ground or out to pasture."

Mac licks his lips and looks up at Bozer with a guilty expression.

Riley snorts. "Out to pasture? You've been hanging out with him too long."

And Mac suddenly can't help the laughter he feels bubbling at his lips, if he doesn't laugh he might cry. Riley continues to tease Bozer's word and life choices, while he defends his colorful and poetic vocabulary. The tension from the room dissipating, and Bozer and Riley exchange a triumphant look, managing between them to fill in the gaps left by Jack's absence and start to pull Mac out of his head.

"You don't know what's going to happen," Bozer says to Mac as the jovial mood slowly shifts back towards serious. "Jack's the strongest man I've ever met. And he's got two of the smartest people I've ever met as friends. You don't think that between the three of us, if he needs it we could make him a bionic leg that would put Stark Tech to shame."

Somehow, after that, Reese coerces him into agreeing to sleep in a hospital bed until Jack was out of surgery, and uses Bozer and Riley to help wrangle himanother Jack word. 

"Might as well get some sleep while you wait," Bozer says over Mac's protests. "You're going to be here anyway."  
  
McClain stops in to look him over after he's settled in his room and gives them an update. Jack's leg is a mess but the surgical team remains optimistic. It only mildly alleviates Mac's concerns. Until he sees Jack with his own eyes, with two legs and home from the hospital, he won't be able to rest easy. 

Mac tosses and turns, never achieving REM, too worried about Jack. Each beep and squeak and unfamiliar noise of the med center waking him, until finally he climbs from the bed and paces the hall, not wanting to wake Bozer and Riley who doze in the guest chairs, despite his attempts to get them to go home.

The nurse catches him on what must be his hundredth pace past the nurses' station, lets him know Jack's in recovery.

He wants to ask. Wants to know the damage done to his partner and how much they were able to fix, but he can't bring himself to say the words, to ask the burning question. If it's bad then he has a few minutes left to pretend that nothing is going to change. And if it's good, he doesn't mind waiting.

He continues his pacing. His steps slowing with fatigue and pain, but he can't stop. Not until he sees Jack. Down to the end of the hall and back again.

The gurney carrying Jack is weighted down with blankets and medical equipment. He follows them into the room, trying desperately to catch a glimpse of the extremities at the end of the bed. Praying there are still two.

Pink tendrils streak across the sky and paint the walls of Jack's hospital room, the sign of the impending dawn. Mac lifts his eyes back towards Jack again.

Brown eyes are staring at him.

Mac scrambles to sit up straighter, ignoring the twinge of pain in his ribs that tries stealing his breath. "Jack? You awake, buddy?"

Jack blinks, then nods. "You okay?" His voice raspy.

Mac huffs. "Yeah, I'm fine. How are you feeling?"

"Kinda floaty," Jack's half-smile dissolves into a frown. "You sure you're okay? You're in medical."

"Yeah, I'm good, Jack. You're the one in the bed."

Jack hums at the information. Then his eyes open wider. "Mac?" The sleepy, drugged half-smile flees. There's panic in his eyes. He tries pushing himself to sit up, looking frantically towards the end of the bed, crying out in pain as the movement jars his bruised and battered body.

"Hey, hey," Mac gently catches Jack's shoulders with a comforting shush, trying to keep him from pulling loose medical equipment. Tears in his eyes, and he holds onto Jack. "It's okay," Mac whispers. "You're okay."

"My leg?"

"Still there. It's okay. They were able to save it."

Jack collapses against the pillows. "You sure?" His eyes latch onto Mac's searching for any sign that his partner might be keeping the truth from him.

"Yeah, it's going to take some time. At least a couple of days here yet, and then some extensive therapy but you're going to have full use of it."

"That's good," Jack mumbles. "Don't know what I'd do if I couldn't watch your back."

Mac licks his lips, blinking against the prickling he feels behind his eyelids. "I don't know what I'd do either," he whispers.

"Hey, bud," Jack murmurs between long slow blinks. "Don't freak out. But I think I'm gonna go back to sleep."

"That's okay," Mac's hand rests on Jack's shoulder. "You sleep. I'll be here when you wake up."

Jack is drifting, nearly asleep. "Better not be... you're still hurting... I'll kick your ass with my crutches if you ain't restin'."  
  


* * *

"Oh man, Mac," Riley's face is pained as she stares at the sight in front of her.

Mac runs a hand through his hair. "I didn't realize it was this bad."

"You can't let him see this," Riley says. She shakes her head. "This might actually kill him."

They each take a tentative step down the driveway, toward the steel blue hunk of metal. The remains of what was once a car.

Jack's corvette. His baby.

Mac circles the car, inspecting the vehicle, searching for signs of life. "Okay, this might have been a bad idea," he admits.

"He's going to be done with his exercises soon," Riley says, her voice hushed, as if worried that Jack will overhear their discussion. "You need to get the tow truck back here now. Cover it with a sheet, let it rest in peace."

"He knows its coming," Mac says, looking back towards the house. "It's all he talked about last night."

"Why didn't you check it out before you had it delivered here?"

"I don't remember it looking this bad that night."

"That night. In the dark. When you had a head injury."

Mac throws his hands up in a half-shrug. "I didn't realize they practically sawed it in half to get Jack out." His hands make their way back to head to twist in his hair. It's not just the destroyed car that's causing his breathing to quicken, but the memories of waiting for help in the dark, and the realization, again of how bad it could have been.

"He really is lucky," Riley says quietly, coming to stand next to Mac, her hand comes to rest on his shoulder.

Mac nods, not trusting his voice.

"Can you fix it?"

Mac takes a few more steps around towards the back of the car, cataloguing the damage and planning for new parts. He looks up, intending to answer Riley when he sees Jack barreling through the front door and down the driveway on his crutches, still maintaining the prescribed non-weight bearing status on his leg.

"Jack," Mac meets him halfway, holding his hands out, placating. "We can fix it."

Jack shakes his head, taking in the sight of his baby. "I don't know, man. I'm not sure even you can put her together again." He lets out a low whistle. "Damn..."

"I didn't realize how bad it was, but with some work"

"We were lucky," Jack interrupts Mac's rambling words, as if he doesn't hear them. He lets one crutch fall to the ground, and slides his now free arm across Mac's shoulders. "I owe ya, kid. Again."

* * *

It's almost a year to the day later. Between missions and other near death, or near permanent dismemberment, experiences. Across the country and around the world, and stopping at scrap yards and swap meets in each new town they visit. Bidding wars online that Riley definitely did not hack in their favor. Sunday afternoons and weeknights after work, and maybe a few vacation days.

Rebuilt from the frame up, even that had to be straightened out. Late nights, and early morning team bonding, teasing laughter and comfort food. Grease under their fingernails and only a few paperclips sneaked into the construction. Jack will never be able to thank them enough for the efforts of his team to make his baby whole again. Purring better than ever before. And he can't wait to take it for a spin.

But Jack has a new prized possession. This one sitting on his dresser instead of in his garage. A photograph of the team in coveralls in Mac's garage, smiles wide and smudged with grease, arms slung around each others' shoulders.

Jack and his kids.  
  



End file.
